


Two Lost Souls (Swimming In A Fishbowl)

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [23]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Clan Mitchell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9585764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: John and Cam stumbling along over the years, with the occasional bit of 'help' from their teammates.Written in response to a series of fic_promptly requests on DW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "to Cam it was love, but to John it was just sex - and they both knew it."

“You’re stringing him along,” Rodney said. “I get that I’m not one to comment on other people’s insensitivity, but that’s kind of a dick move, don’t you think?”  
  
John raised his eyebrows. “A dick move?”  
  
“That’s what the Marines call it.”  
  
“The Marines are talking about it?”  
  
“No, not about you and Mitchell specifically. Just - the concept in general.” Rodney’s mouth was twisted into a displeased frown. “I get it - the guy’s a jerk. He threatened me with a lemon. Actually, I don’t get it, why you’d even sleep with him.”  
  
“Have you seen his ass?”  
  
“It is a nice ass,” Rodney conceded, “but still. A lemon.”  
  
Apparently Mitchell was a decent enough guy not to tell Rodney that John had given him that lemon.  
  
“It’s just two team leaders blowing off steam,” John said.  
  
“I thought Sam and Mitchell were co-leaders.”  
  
“Yeah, but Sam doesn’t have a dick.”  
  
Rodney looked confused. “I thought you were married to a woman once.”  
  
“As you noted, _once_. It didn’t last.” John hated having conversations like this, but it had been bugging Rodney obviously for a while now, and it was best to let him vent, and then he’d never talk about it again. For all that Rodney was prone to dramatics, he was as emotionally repressed as pretty much every other man John knew, Parrish aside.  
  
“How long have you and Mitchell lasted?”  
  
John thought of that first encounter, back at flight school, a stolen kiss in the hangar while Mitchell was painting a decal onto his jet. He shrugged, because he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d known that long, and he didn’t want to admit that to Rodney, because Rodney would read the wrong thing into it. “Mitchell knows what the score is.”  
  
“But do you know what the score is for him?”  
  
Everyone knew what the score was for Mitchell. He’d been under the influence of alien truth serum.  


*

“He doesn’t love you back,” Daniel said in a low voice. Sam was off meeting with Weir, Teal’c was throwing down with Ronon in the gym, and Daniel had managed to pawn Vala off on some unsuspecting Marines who were taken in by her charms.  
  
Cam shrugged. “I know that. There’s no rule that says just because I love him he has to love me back.”  
  
As far as everyone knew, of course, Cam’s confession under truth serum was the beginning and ending of anything between him and John - just Cam’s feelings, never spoken, because he was the poster boy for Air Force excellence. He’d never let his feelings get in the way of his heroism.  
  
Daniel stared at him. “But - you two -”  
  
John’s team knew. Cam’s team knew. Both teams deserved that much honesty.  
  
“I don’t know if you’ve looked at John Sheppard lately, but he’s beautiful.”  
  
Daniel, Cam knew, wasn’t immune to the beautiful men in the SGC. He was even better than Cam supposedly was at setting his feelings aside in favor of the mission. Granted, he’d also had legendary shouting matches with O’Neill, so maybe in the grand scheme of things Cam was the one who was better at managing his emotions. Of course, Daniel and O’Neill had never been brave enough to cross the line that John and Cam crossed every time they were in the same galaxy.  
  
But then O’Neill’s feelings toward Daniel were much stronger than John’s were toward Cam.  
  
“What will you do when Sheppard finds someone else or settles down?”  
  
“I don’t know if you’ve talked to John Sheppard lately, but he’ll never let anyone else in. I’m as close as he’ll ever get, and I’m conveniently physically distant most of the time but conveniently share his level of security clearance.”  
  
“You deserve better,” Daniel said.  
  
“Plenty of people deserve better than they get,” Cam said, “but the universe isn’t fair.”  
  
“And you’ll just let it keep being unfair to you?”  
  
“I think I’m getting something more than fair. I’m in love with him, and he doesn’t love me back, but I know how his skin smells and how his lips taste and how he fits in my arms. It’s better than most people get.”  
  
“He’s going to break your heart.”  
  
“What makes you think he hasn’t already?”  
  
Daniel shook his head and sat back. “You’re insane.”  
  
“I’m in love. Same thing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "John Sheppard /& Cameron Mitchell, flyboy(s)."
> 
> Wendy Mitchell knows Cam is gone for John.

Wendy was pretty sure no one else knew - not Ash, not Frank, and certainly none of the aunts and uncles and cousins. What they all knew was that John Sheppard had been in flight school with Cam, and they’d been posted in Afghanistan together briefly before they were both reassigned, and now they were posted together again in Colorado, and John wasn’t close to his family.  
  
As the Mitchell and Griffith clans both had long legacies of military service, they thought it was borderline criminal that John’s family was so unsupportive of him because he’d chosen military service instead of the family business (whatever the family business was; nothing short of curing cancer would have been a nobler calling than serving one’s country). So they welcomed John every time he came home for a holiday, plied him with food, tried to introduce him around to nice girls in the neighborhood.  
  
John tended to hang back behind Cam, let Cam shoulder the brunt of the interactions. In addition to growing up in a non-military family, John had apparently grown up in a family that wasn’t very affectionate, and he’d looked genuinely terrified the first time Great Aunt Edna pulled him into a hug and patted him on the rear (she did the same thing to Cam).   
  
What Wendy knew, that no one else knew, was that Cam was in love with John. When Cam was home, he romped with Ash’s kids and the other little cousins, gave them piggy back rides and plane rides, tossed a pigskin around the yard with the older kids, took the oldest kids out to the back forty to practice with rifles. But he always checked in on John, made sure John could sit next to him - and therefore maintain his personal space bubble - at the dinner table, in the den to play board games or watch movies, even out in the shop with Frank and Bayliss and the other men while they tinkered on cars or carpentry projects.   
  
Wendy figured it out the first time Great Aunt Edna insisted John learn how to knit, like every good Mitchell and Griffith boy, and Cam sat opposite John, their heads bent close together, Cam’s hands gentle on John’s as he showed him how to cast on, how to muddle his way through a simple garter stitch. John had been frowning, lips pursed in concentration. Cam had been smiling, amused, and fond. And then John had looked up at Cam and smiled ruefully, and Wendy could see - Cam was gone for him.  
  
But not John. Whenever John came to Mitchell family gatherings, he kept near Cam, knew Cam was safety and a social buffer, but he never looked at Cam the way Cam looked at him. Wendy wasn’t stupid, was wise to some of the darker undertones of military service, and no one else blinked twice anyway when Wendy had John and Cam room together (they were very, very careful).  
  
Everyone else thought they were the best of friends, two flyboys, daredevils and heroes, sharing secret smiles about their classified work. Wendy knew flyboys - like Frank - flew too close to the sun. She just hoped her Cameron wasn’t an Icarus when it came to John.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "I know you like you know me so here we go again."
> 
> Cam knows John never sees it coming with alien women, and John knows Cam deserves better.

John had never thought he’d miss the days when Atlantis was cut off from Earth and weekly databursts weren’t an option, because the SGC was a relatively small organization, compared to Big Air Force and the rest of the world in general (accounting for the IOA’s involvement in the program), and that meant everyone involved in it was a relentless gossip.  
  
On the scale of having an ascended Ancient have a crush on him to having an alien princess come into his room, take off her clothes, and push him down on the bed, John didn’t think his latest incident of never seeing it coming with an alien woman was all that bad.   
  
Apparently it was bad enough that he’d received emails from Jackson, Carter, and even Vala for basically cheating on Mitchell.  
  
Carter, who had been a couple of years ahead of both Cam and John in flight school, sent a brief, oblique message that, should it have been intercepted and read, would seem perfectly innocuous.  
  
 _John,_  
  
 _Be careful with those alien women. Remember that relations out there affect relations back here._  
  
She’d signed it, _Carter._  
  
Jackson and John had little more than a professional relationship, but John had spent some time with the man at McMurdo and at the SGC under the mountain while he was prepping for Atlantis, learning all he could about Ancient language and culture since everyone was sure that if there were any living Ancients in Atlantis, they’d be most willing to talk to John.  
  
His email was colder and more professional but more pointed.  
  
 _Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard,_  
  
 _Be more discreet when you’re off-world. Cultural missteps cannot always be smoothed away by the likes of Ms. Emmagan and Dr. Weir. And I cannot always smooth away the effects of those missteps on Earth, which may be amplified in ways you have not - or choose not - to foresee._  
  
 _Sincerely,_  
  
 _Daniel Jackson, Ph.D_  
  
John had basically zero relationship with Vala Mal Doran, but she was also an alien, so that was pretty much the only reason John could ascribe to her email, which read:  
  
 _Philandering Bastard,_  
  
 _My friend is ten times the soldier and person you are, and you are not fit to lick my friend’s boots. Keep it in your pants._  
  
She hadn’t even signed it.  
  
In John’s defense, he’d just been trying to be polite to the woman, and he was pretty sure no one else could have predicted that she’d yank him into a kiss and try to disrobe him in the middle of trade negotiations. Ronon and even Rodney told him later, though, that it was obvious to even a blind man that he’d been flirting with her and leading her on, and it was also his own fault that he hadn’t paid closer attention to Teyla’s briefing on that planet’s culture of exhibitionism as affection and trust.  
  
John knew Mitchell too well, though. He was such a damn nice guy that it was hard to imagine how he’d ever become a soldier. So he was unsurprised when Mitchell sent him an email that was neither accusatory nor condemning.  
  
 _Shep,_  
  
 _Sorry about the others. They get overzealous sometimes, like I’m not an adult who can take care of myself, and like you and I aren’t adults. We both know the score. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again._  
  
He’d signed his email as he always did, _Cam._  
  
That was how it should have ended, because Cam was right, they were both adults, and they both knew the score in their arrangement. John figured he’d feel more like a bastard about sleeping with Cam if Cam were being hurt by it, but he was fine with it, so there was no reason John shouldn’t be fine with it.  
  
And it wasn’t like SGC personnel had never done a little off-world flirting for the sake of maintaining goodwill with alien allies.  
  
Cam had never outright told John how he felt, but John knew, because he wasn’t nearly as oblivious with men as he was with women. Cam never imposed his feelings on John, demanded reciprocation where there was none to be had, so John shouldn’t feel guilty.   
  
One day Cam would find someone better and move on, and he’d be happy, and John would find someone new, too.   
  
Only what if he wasn’t moving on because he figured what he was getting from John was enough? (He had the right to decide what was or wasn’t enough for him, right?) What if he thought that one day John really would come around? Or what if the attention John was giving him was just enough that he didn’t realize he ought to be looking for someone better?  
  
Well, damn. John really was stringing Cam along, and Cam was either too nice to say anything about it or too naive to realize it was happening (naivety not being a quality often found on gate-rated soldiers; niceness definitely a quality found in southern boys like Cam).  
  
John was thinking of him as _Cam_ instead of _Mitchell_.  
  
Cam knew John too damn well, because in the next databurst, he sent John another email.  
  
 _Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m happy, and our arrangement works for us._  
  
John stared at that single line of text and thought, _You deserve better._  
  
The thought of Cam moving on undid something inside John that he hadn’t even known was there, not till he felt it crumble and shatter and lodge in his lungs and heart, make it impossible to breathe, impossible to see or think or do anything but feel.  
  
He didn’t know if he had it in him to be better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "taking time to see you."
> 
> John takes time to see Cam when he's on leave on Earth.

John knew it probably meant more to Cam than to others at the SGC that John spent his earthside leave with Cam. Given the distance he had to travel and his limited opportunities for leave, taking the time to see Cam was a big enough deal, from a logistical standpoint. Cam came from a big, affectionate family with a long history of military service, and for them leave was always spent with family as much as possible, or with someone who would one day become family. Cam knew John wasn’t close to his own family, but Cam still planned and used his leave very carefully, which was why John ended up accompanying Cam back to the Mitchell family farm when they had leave at the same time.  
  
John had no idea how Lorne did it, but as soon as he stepped through the gate, one of the airmen handed Lorne a cell phone, which he fired up immediately, duffel bag still over one shoulder.  
  
“Hey man, guess who’s back stateside? That’s right! Grab your gear and meet me at the base of Cheyenne Mountain in an hour. Let’s hit the slopes!”  
  
Lorne made a beeline for the elevators.  
  
John watched him go, amused. Then he glanced up at the control room and saw Cam standing beside Walter at the dialing computer. Cam had a file open on one hand and was angled toward Siler, but when he saw John, he smiled and waved. Everyone on base knew they were friends from flight school and Afghanistan.  
  
Everyone also knew John never spoke of his family and, for the most part, crashed on Cam’s couch while he hung out and relaxed for a couple of weeks whenever he was on leave.  
  
John wasn’t the only soldier who’d been taken along as an orphan to one of Cam’s family gatherings, and he wasn’t the only soldier who’d crashed on Cam’s couch. John was the only soldier who shared Cam’s bed, though. Of that he was sure.  
  
It occurred to John, after he’d filled out a bunch of paperwork only a base commander could (he and Lorne had agreed to go on leave at the same time to give Teldy a chance to stretch her wings), that he and Cam were basically in a committed relationship. John’s time on Earth was basically his best chance to go out and get laid, because due to command issues on Atlantis it would be a disaster for him to hook up with anyone, but instead he spent all of his leave with Cam.  
  
John had his own special toothbrush and towel and coffee mug at Cam’s house. Cam made breakfast for both of them every morning, something hot if John woke up at the same time, something that would keep or be good cold if John slept through Cam’s waking. Cam taped all of the football games John would have wanted to watch, and he had a stack of golf magazines for John as well. John tried to be a gracious guest by tidying up around the house above and beyond cleaning up after himself, doing the laundry and checking the mailbox.  
  
John either attempted to cook dinner (something simple, like mac-n-cheese and vienna sausages) or ordered dinner in so it was ready when Cam got home, and they hung out and watched yet more football or a movie or John read while Cam knitted. In winter, they’d hit the slopes together, Cam snowboarding, John skiing. Cam kept all of John’s ski gear, and when John was on the slopes, he wore the scarf and hat Cam had knitted him.  
  
Basically, John and Cam lived together when John was on Earth. And John had never even realized it. For Cam, making a space in his life, in his home for John was an act of love, of kindness, a desire to make John feel comfortable and cared-for. For John, doing things around the house was to be a decent houseguest.  
  
John had a spare key for Cam’s place on his keyring, so he headed to Cam’s place before Cam got done with his shift.  
  
John stowed his duffel bag in its usual spot in the hall closet (so it was accessible from the couch, should anyone drop by who needed to be under the illusion that John slept on the couch) and sank down on the couch, buried his face in his hands. His duffel bag had a _usual spot_.  
  
What the hell was he doing, playing house with Cam when he didn’t even love Cam, when it could wreck both of their careers? Cam was a genuinely good guy, a nice guy, and he and John had a lot of things in common - football, flying, winter sports, good beer. But John was basically hell-bent on spending the rest of his life on Atlantis, going out with his boots on, Wraith hopefully defeated, most likely on to the next enemy, and none of how he’d envisioned the rest of his life included Cameron Mitchell.  
  
John dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and swore. He had to break it off with Mitchell. This thing - it was insane. They had to end it. _He_ had to end it.  
  
John was waiting in the foyer when Mitchell got home. The door swung open, and Mitchell dropped his keys and wallet and phone into the basket on the table in the entryway. Came up short when he saw John.  
  
“Hey, Shep, what’s up?”  
  
“I can’t do this anymore,” John said.  
  
Mitchell tilted his head quizzically. “This?”  
  
“This.” John gestured between them.  
  
“Oh. Why? I mean, you don’t have to answer - you’re entitled to your feelings. But I’d like to know, if it’s not too uncomfortable.”  
  
John was pretty sure somewhere in Mitchell’s file it said _inarticulate when he doesn’t get what he wants_. But maybe he’d been expecting this. And he did deserve to know. John said, “I know you’re in love with me, and you know I’m not in love with you. You deserve better than that, and I can’t keep doing this.”  
  
Mitchell’s expression hardened. “Now just one minute - those are two different things. The only person who decides what I deserve in a relationship is me. If you can’t keep doing this because you feel guilty or whatever, that’s on you. But don’t think for one second that you’re doing me some kind of favor because you know what I deserve.”  
  
But John knew Mitchell deserved better than being what amounted to a convenient fuck for a guy who was another galaxy away for three to six months at a shot. Everyone else knew Mitchell deserved better than that, which was why his teammates sent John angry emails when John flirted for the cause, why even _Rodney_ told John he was being a jerk for stringing Mitchell along.  
  
Mitchell said, “If you want to break it off, fine. We can still be friends, you can still crash here on the couch. Or you can find somewhere else to stay. Up to you.”  
  
For a guy who always wore his heart on his sleeve, Mitchell’s expression was completely unreadable.  
  
John looked into those blue eyes and felt like he was looking at a wall. “I don’t understand you,” he said.  
  
Mitchell looked taken aback. “What’s there to understand? It takes two people to have any kind of relationship, and if one person wants out, it’s over. Simple as that.”  
  
“And you’d be okay with that? With me just walking out on whatever this has been after all these years?”  
  
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Mitchell spread his hands helplessly.  
  
Something in John’s chest twisted. He knew this had to be killing Mitchell, but to keep on like this, knowing how it was going to end, was insane. “You’re just going to take this lying down, then?”  
  
Mitchell still looked taken aback. “What, you want me to fight back? Make some kind of ridiculous scene? I’ve fought for you every day since that first kiss, every mission I nearly didn’t come back from, every day in the hospital and in rehab, every trip through the gate. I love you, and every moment I’ve had with you beyond the simplicity of camaraderie has been precious, more than I could ever hope to get from someone who doesn’t love me back. You never made me any promises, never led me to believe this would ever be more. There were really only two options: either we keep going as we have till one of us dies or finds someone new, or we just separate. Unless this is you telling me that you’ve never even liked me as a person, that you’ve been using me for kicks and giggles, this is how it has to be.”  
  
John was tempted to tell Mitchell that he had just been using him, to see how much he’d take, but now the ruse had lost its lustre, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that cruel. He’d been cruel enough as it is. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be -”  
  
“More upset? Not the first time you’ve broken my heart, John Sheppard. But I love you, and I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be, on either of us.”  
  
John retreated a step, his breath caught in his chest. “How can you be real? How can you still love me after all this?”  
  
Mitchell laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. “You’re conflating love and like. I can love you and not like you at the same time. I sure as hell don’t like you right now. You forget I’m a soldier, just like you. I’ve spent countless hours training myself to injure, to kill, to protect what’s mine at all costs. But my heart’s not mine anymore - I gave it to you. I love you because you’re a good person, and you make me laugh, and you’re beautiful. But sometimes I definitely don’t like the way you make me hurt.”  
  
John was being irrational. Mitchell was giving him a graceful exit. He should take it, not fight it. He didn’t want Mitchell to fight him, fight _for_ him, because after all he’d done to Mitchell, he wasn’t worth fighting for. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said finally.  
  
Mitchell smiled sadly. “I know. You’re not the kind of guy.”  
  
John looked at him for a long moment, then said, “I’ll get my bag and go.”  
  
Mitchell nodded. “See you ‘round, Shep.” And he headed for his room.  
  
John fished his duffel bag out of the hall closet and fled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: '"Star-Crossed Lovers and Other Strangers" (Gilmore Girls)'
> 
> Daniel learns from Vala that the star-crossed lovers are now strangers.

Daniel knew that whenever Sheppard was on Earth, Mitchell would be scarce. It was the way of things. Somehow it had fallen to him, as the anthropologist and technically the longest-running member of the team, to be in charge of social gatherings and other team bonding activities. There was no point in inviting Mitchell to movie night or dinner out till Sheppard was back in Pegasus.  
  
Daniel was in his office, attempting to translate what might be a piece of Furling writing that SG-13 had found on their most recent mission, when Vala sauntered in. She was careful to push aside his papers and projects before she hoisted herself up onto his desk, legs swinging.  
  
“Hello, Vala.” Daniel didn’t look up at her, but acknowledging her would stave off the more irritating of her tendencies.  
  
“Daniel.”  
  
He searched for a topic to distract her. “How are the star-crossed lovers?” He kept his voice low.  
  
“Not lovers anymore,” she said softly. “Strangers.”  
  
Daniel lifted his head. “What?”  
  
“You should have seen Mitchell’s face as Sheppard stepped through the gate.”  
  
Daniel set down his pen. “How do you know?”  
  
“A girl knows these sorts of things.” But Vala’s attempt at lofty wisdom and levity was marred by the sadness in her eyes.  
  
Daniel was tempted to go find Mitchell, ask if he was all right, but even though he was generally more approachable than Jack, he was still a soldier, still cautious. He sat back. “What do we do?”  
  
“Nothing,” Vala said, “unless he asks us to.”  
  
Daniel knew Mitchell wouldn’t. He stood up, abandoned his work, went in search of Sam. She was in the lab. She hadn’t seen much of Mitchell either during Sheppard’s leave. It was something the team all agreed upon implicitly - they left Mitchell to his time with Sheppard. Daniel couldn’t come right out and ask her even though there were no other soldiers in the lab, and she didn’t mention anything. Neither did Teal’c.  
  
So Daniel watched Mitchell, over the next few weeks. He didn’t say a word either, didn’t act like anything in his life was different. Except he smiled less, was slower to laugh. Came to the Mountain earlier, worked later. He took his turns hosting movie night and making dinner for team dinner night, and he was as gracious and welcoming as ever.  
  
But Daniel noticed that the stack of golf magazines he kept on the coffee table was gone, and there was only one toothbrush in the bathroom, and there was no more ski gear in the garage.  
  
Cameron Mitchell, Daniel realized, was miserable. He was still a good leader in the field, shared command with Sam as smoothly as possible, was full of anecdotes about and quotes from his grandma, even brought homemade macaroons to the base to share once in a while.   
  
Something in his eyes, in his voice was missing. Daniel didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t know how to get it back.  
  
He did the only thing he could do: he emailed Rodney McKay.  
  
 _Is yours miserable? Because mine is. Can we fix it?_  
  
The reply one week later was disheartening. _I don’t know how._  
  
That had to be a good sign, though, if Sheppard was hurting too. That meant he’d felt more for Mitchell than he’d let on or maybe even realized for himself.  
  
At least, Daniel hoped so.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "across the galaxies."
> 
> Rodney McKay is the smartest man in two galaxies, but not even he knows how to fix an intergalactic romance.

When Rodney first opened Daniel’s email and saw the word _miserable_ he scoffed, because really, what had that country bumpkin expected, letting John string him along like that? John had insisted that Mitchell knew the score on what was going on between them, and Rodney couldn’t decide who was more deluded, John or Mitchell. Rodney was the smartest man in two galaxies, but he could admit he wasn’t an expert on interpersonal relationships. Even he’d known that what was going on between John and Mitchell would end in disaster for Mitchell.  
  
But that tiny email stuck with him over the next few days, and he watched John, and he realized - John was miserable, too. There was no way Rodney would have said anything to anyone else about it, because he had no proof, but there was a brittle undercurrent to everything John did. He was being more _Sheppard_ than usual, with the smirks and the slouching and the raised eyebrows and the sarcasm and the not caring, but it was all a veneer over something that was fractured and was threatening to shatter into a thousand knife-sharp pieces.  
  
Rodney was stupidly relieved when Teyla finally cornered him and said, “John is not well. I cannot quite explain it, but he is not well. He was just on leave - was it not peaceful for him?”  
  
As soon as she said the words aloud, realization crossed her face. “Mitchell.”  
  
Rodney nodded.  
  
“They are -”  
  
“Daniel used the word _miserable._ ” Rodney sighed. He was the smartest man in two galaxies, but he had no idea how to fix a relationship that spanned two galaxies, a relationship that was in some respects illegal, a relationship that had basically been broken from the start. How did anyone maintain anything across the galaxies?  
  
“Very miserable indeed.” Teyla reached for her radio. “We must speak to Ronon. This cannot continue.”  
  
If John was emotionally repressed and unwilling to talk about his feelings, Ronon had the emotional range of a rock (he had three modes: fighting the Wraith, training to fight the Wraith, and eating). But he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow and nodded as Teyla explained the situation (and why had Rodney’s quarters become Fix Sheppard Central?).  
  
“John says we’re not supposed to ask about it or talk about it.”  
  
Rodney waved a dismissive hand. “That’s only as between soldiers. None of us are members of the American Armed Forces, so that rule doesn’t apply to us.”  
  
“But it still applies to Sheppard,” Ronon said.  
  
Rodney sighed again. Any more sighing and he’d be sprawled across a fainting couch like a regency heroine. “Teyla, why don’t you talk to him? These sorts of conversations are better coming from a woman.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow and he said, “Yes, I know, that’s stereotyping and sexist, but we’re dealing with John, here. He’s a macho soldier. And you’re better at making him talk anyway. Do you want me to get Maxwell or one of the other chemists to whip up some sodium pentathol to put into a cup of tea, or something? Would that help?”  
  
“You wish to poison John into telling the truth?” Teyla asked.  
  
“When you say it like that, okay, it sounds like it wouldn’t help.” Rodney looked up at Ronon. “What would you do?”  
  
“Take him to shoot a bunch of stuff and get him really drunk,” Ronon said.  
  
That actually sounded like standard soldier behavior. But a really drunk John would also mean a hungover and cranky John the next day. “Maybe start with Teyla, and if that doesn’t work, try the drunk thing.”  
  
Whatever happened between Teyla and John, it ended with John taking a jumper and escorting some scientists on a geological survey and Teyla retreating to her quarters to meditate for an awfully long time.  
  
John refused to get drunk with Ronon.  
  
Rodney wasn’t even going to try to talk to John about Mitchell, so he gave in and sent Daniel a reply in the next databurst, four words he absolutely hated to say.  
  
 _I don’t know how._   
  
Rodney closed his laptop and stood up, left his quarters. Didn’t go to the lab or the mess hall. Just walked. This was insane, really. Back on Earth, the SGC was his workplace, the people around him barely colleagues. He had no investment in their personal lives. But this was Atlantis, and AR-1 was his team, his family. He didn’t want John to be unhappy. Whenever Rodney was unhappy, John would crack open a couple of brews and they’d sit on the pier and shoot the breeze, not actually talk about what was making them unhappy, but afterwards Rodney always felt better.  
  
Maybe that would make John feel better, too. Because it wasn’t Rodney’s job to fix what was going on between him and Mitchell. Rodney would be glad if John was permanently well-shot of Mitchell. They were both adults. It wasn’t like the only way for them to stop being miserable was to get back together. It wasn’t like John had loved Mitchell, after all.  
  
Except - except maybe he had. That would be why he felt so miserable, right? Because he missed Mitchell? Or maybe he’d taken to heart what Rodney had said to him about his stringing Mitchell along being a seriously dick move.  
  
Was it Rodney’s fault John felt bad?  
  
Rodney wasn’t above taking responsibility for his own poor choices. So he grabbed a couple of beers out of the mini fridge in his room and asked Control for a twenty on John.  
  
John was sitting in the lab, of all places, staring at Rodney’s whiteboard, marker in hand. He’d been - he’d been _solving_ Rodney’s equation.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“What does it look like?”  
  
Rodney knew John was capable of arithmetic feats that made him seem like a human calculator, but being fast wasn’t the same as understanding complex and abstract mathematical concepts.  
  
“But how?”  
  
John cast him an amused look, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You weren’t the only one who went to grad school, Rodney.”  
  
Rodney stepped closer to him, scanned the work he’d done. It was good. Brilliant, even. But - no. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He was the smartest man in two galaxies, and he wasn’t going to admit defeat. He thrust one of the beers at John.  
  
“C’mon. I want to go hang out on the pier.”  
  
“Hang out?” John echoed, but he accepted the beer and capped the marker and put it back, so Rodney headed for the door. “What are we, teenagers?”  
  
“You know, I wouldn’t mind being eighteen or nineteen again - physically, not mentally. That whole running thing would be far less onerous.” Rodney led the way to the transporter.  
  
Their pier was always deserted, because it was _theirs_ , and also Rodney had told Teyla and Ronon that he was going to try to talk to John.  
  
John plopped down at the edge of the pier and used his knife to pry the cap off of his bottle of beer, took a long pull. “Things going lame between you and Katie?”  
  
The last thing Rodney wanted to do was talk about Katie, but if it got John talking, he’d do it. For the mission. For the team. “Dating in general is harder. I know nothing about women. Some days I think I should have just stuck to men, but men are just as complicated in their own way.”  
  
“Men?” John asked, very casually.  
  
“What? Oh. I guess we never really talked about it. I’m bi.” Rodney eyed him. “Don’t tell me you have a problem with it, because that would be -”  
  
“No, of course not. Just - didn’t expect that.”  
  
“You don’t expect a lot of things when it comes to people,” Rodney muttered.  
  
John sipped some more beer. “So, bi. If not Katie, then who?”  
  
“Grodin was - tolerable. Beckett has nice blue eyes. Major Lorne has a really nice chest.”  
  
John hummed his assent.  
  
“Mitchell does have a great ass, it’s true.”  
  
John choked on a mouthful of beer, swallowed quickly. “Seriously? Did Teyla put you up to this?”  
  
“No. I just - you seem...out of sorts. And I know I said some harsh stuff about you stringing him along, but you were right - you’re both adults, and you knew the score, and I didn’t want you to feel bad because I - I spoke out of turn.”  
  
John stared at him for a long time. Finally, he said, “No, you were right.”  
  
“I wasn’t -”  
  
“You were.”  
  
“No, really -”  
  
“Since when do you refuse to be right?” John eyed him, amused.  
  
“I, well - Mitchell’s an ass, anyway. Threatening me with a lemon like that. Not quite as bad as the time Sam told me to go suck on a lemon when I pissed her off -”  
  
“She said that to you?”  
  
“I might have called her a dumb blonde.” Which was evidence, right there, of how bad Rodney was with people. He sipped some beer to forestall further comment.  
  
John said, “I was the one who gave Mitchell the lemon.”  
  
Rodney spluttered and nearly snorted beer out of his nose. “You _what?_ ”  
  
“He seemed nervous about dealing with you, so I -”  
  
“Gave him the means to _kill me?_ ”  
  
“He wouldn’t have used it and you know it.”  
  
Rodney did know it. But it was the principle of the thing. John was his friend and teammate. John was supposed to protect him from hulking, brainless soldiers.  
  
“Mitchell’s not brainless,” John snapped, and had Rodney said that aloud?  
  
Rodney eyed him. “You’re defending Mitchell.”  
  
“Because he’s a good guy. What I did was - a dick move.”  
  
“Yeah, it was, but you can’t help what you don’t feel, right? If you don’t feel it, you don’t, and forcing it would have made both of you miserable in the long run. Although you’re obviously miserable right now.”  
  
John raised his eyebrows.  
  
Rodney sighed and took a long pull from his bottle. “Please stop me before I pull something.”  
  
“What if I do feel it, and now I’ve screwed it up?”  
  
Rodney squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Obviously you apologize. You grovel. You - you consent to him naming a stupid plant after you, and watch romantic comedies even though you hate them, and - and other things like that. Chocolate? Flowers?”  
  
John huffed. “Are we talking about me or you?”  
  
“I’m really bad at apologizing, okay?”  
  
“You mean you never apologize.”  
  
“That’s not true! I’m trying very hard with Katie.” Rodney opened his eyes and glared at John.  
  
John rolled his bottle between his palms. Was it already empty? He only did that when it was empty, lest he spill something. “I should’ve tried harder with Cam.”  
  
Rodney blinked. “Who?”  
  
“Mitchell. His name is Cameron Mitchell. Cam. Cam and Sam. You’ve never heard them -? Never mind.” John gazed out at the waves, far off at the horizon.  
  
“The other option, of course, is to just own your decision and move on with the path you’ve chosen. That’s the true mark of a good leader. Not necessarily making the right decision but making the best of the one you’ve made.” Rodney had read half a leadership manual when he’d been made CSO of the expedition before giving up. It was his job to further science and discovery, not give pep talks.  
  
“But doggedly pursuing a bad choice just magnifies the consequence of the choice, and not in a good way.”  
  
Rodney suspected John was thinking not of relationships but of command decisions he’d made in the past, decisions he’d made as a soldier. “But you know the world isn’t that black and white. And neither are people.” No time to dwell in the past, though. Still, if John wasn’t blaming himself because of what Rodney had said, Rodney’s job was done. Right?  
  
“Flowers and chocolate would be dangerously unsubtle.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Rodney pushed himself to his feet. “Now, I’m going to limp back to my quarters, because I did pull something, and let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”  
  
“Romantic comedies?”  
  
“Didn’t happen!”  
  
John laughed, but he said, “Thanks, Rodney,” and Rodney thought maybe he’d known how to fix things all along.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "make-up sex isn't an option when you're stationed in different galaxies, so they've had to find other ways to get past arguments."
> 
> Cam gets a puzzle and an apology - and something more.

Cam wasn’t sure what to think when the brown-wrapped package arrived. It was addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting. The return address was Atlantis, which had made his heart skip a beat for a second, hoping it was something from John, and then dreading it was something from John (like John returning something Cam had given him), but he didn’t recognize the handwriting. He opened the box carefully - it had been checked by security, of course - and it was…  
  
An MRE.  
  
Someone had sent him an MRE, carefully packed in wadded up pieces of paper in lieu of packing peanuts, because apparently while there were MREs to spare in Atlantis, there weren’t any packing peanuts.  
  
Cam started at it, baffled. It was one of those mac-n-cheese MREs that Daniel insisted tasted like chicken but was basically the most palatable because it was the most tasteless. It included a little thing of orange juice - not from McKay, then - and a little packet of peanut butter cups. Those were Cam’s favorite; he much preferred them over regular chocolate bars, but he knew chocolate could go a long way with kids in foreign countries and on alien planets. Daniel had charmed aliens his first time off-world with a candy bar, after all.  
  
Cam rifled through the box some more to see if there was something else. Was it some kind of misguided Marine prank, maybe? There had been some very stern emails sent around after Sergeant Winchester sent his brother Captain Winchester a sandwich on the _Daedalus_ after Captain Winchester had mentioned, in an email during the weekly databurst, that he missed getting sandwiches with his brother. No using the internal mail system improperly.  
  
But there was nothing else in the box.  
  
Cam sighed and went to throw the box and its improvised packing material away, and then he noticed that one of the pieces of wadded up paper had writing on it. No, not writing, but - a flurry of ink, like cross-hatching. Shading. Scrap paper, then. Except, written in one corner of the piece of paper was a number. Twelve.  
  
Cam smoothed the paper out. Something about the image was strange, like it had been cut off at the edges precisely, too precisely for just a human hand. He smoothed out another piece of paper. It was also covered with a patch of ink. And it was numbered. Twenty-seven.  
  
Cam dumped all the other pieces of paper out of the box and smoothed them out, shuffled them into numerical order. And he began to lay them on the floor, one by one. It took him a moment to figure out how the edges fit together. First he tried right to left, then left to right; top to bottom, then bottom to top; one diagonal, and the other. Finally he realized they had to be arranged in a counter-clockwise spiral. Someone had laid forty-two pieces of paper slightly on top of each other in a spiral and then drawn a single picture across all of them, a type of puzzle.  
  
Whoever the mysterious sender was, he or she was a talented artist. There was a pair of hands, an MRE resting on a flat surface. Hands became wrists - a watch.  
  
Cam’s breath caught for a second. A familiar black wristband.  
  
Forearms. Rolled-up sleeves on a black BDU shirt.  
  
It was a picture of John, sitting at a table, MRE unopened in front of him, so lifelike it could have been a photograph. Had it been a photograph, John would have been looking right at the camera when it was taken. The intensity in his gaze left Cam aching. After that last - first, only - fight, he’d been sure they were done for good. Was this a sign that John had changed his mind?  
  
There was a note on the MRE in the picture, but it was angled so Cam couldn’t quite read it.  
  
He picked up the MRE that had come in the box and turned it over, searching it. It had no note.  
  
And then he saw, in careful, tiny print, on the bottom of the label so neat he’d thought it was part of the label, a note.  
  
 _Have dinner with me?_  
  
Cam stared at the picture. It was almost life-size. If he tacked it up on the wall of his office, it would be like John was sitting opposite him. Cam reached out, traced the ink lines of John’s face.  
  
Beneath the dinner request were three more words.  
  
 _Contains olive juice._  
  
What the hell? That made no sense. Cam mouthed the words to himself. Some kind of anagram? Puzzle? Code? Something to do with the meal? He studied the ingredients list for any reference to olives. Olive oil? That had significance across various cultures. John knew Cam had been raised religious, but John hadn’t been, and he wouldn’t think that way.  
  
Cam mouthed the words some more. Did they rhyme with something?  
  
And then he realized, when he caught his reflection in the glass of one of his framed diplomas on the wall.  
  
When he mouthed the words, they looked just like, _I love you._  
  
He gathered all the papers up and stuffed them into a drawer that he knew no one dared to go into, mostly because it was utter chaos and everyone liked to pretend it didn’t exist. He set the MRE on his desk, woke up his hibernating computer, and fired off an email.  
  
 _An MRE with a side of olive juice. I can get behind that._  
  
He was grinning like a loon when he headed for the mess hall for lunch. Daniel and Vala and Teal’c and even Sam noticed, but Cam didn’t care. He couldn’t wait till John was on leave next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "rewinding time."
> 
> Having John back on Earth is like rewinding time.
> 
> Tag to The Return.

When the expedition was kicked out of Atlantis, it was chaos and devastation. Several hundred displaced personnel. The agonizing knowledge that the Ancients had returned and they wanted nothing to do with the Tau’ri, not to help them with the Wraith or the Ori. On top of all that, Daniel had been captured by the Ori and the Orici.  
  
It didn’t occur to Cam till he was standing in Landry’s office and John stepped in that it meant John was back. For good.  
  
For John, though, Earth was no longer home. Atlantis had been home. John had had a connection to that city that no one else could understand - save maybe the Ancients - and he’d had it ripped away, and had his team ripped in half.  
  
John standing at perfect attention while Landry addressed him was painful to witness. After Cam delivered his progress report to Landry - still no sign of Daniel - he put a hand on John’s shoulder and said,   
  
“Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”  
  
No one would blink twice at John going home with Cam, certainly not with all that was going on. Landry actually looked grateful that Cam was taking John off his hands, so Cam felt no guilt in cutting out early and heading for home, John in tow.  
  
John and Cam barely made it into Cam’s house before John pinned Cam up against the door that led from the garage to the kitchen and kissed him, open-mouthed and desperate, clawing at Cam’s uniform and moaning with want.  
  
“Easy, soldier,” Cam murmured between kisses. “I know it’s been a while, but let’s take this slow.”  
  
John buried his face against Cam’s throat, panting. “Please, Cameron, I -”  
  
Cam smoothed a hand up and down John’s back. Never mind. John needed it fast and hard. Cam ducked in, caught John’s mouth with his, started walking him back toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went.  
  
They tumbled naked into the sheets, hands roaming, mouths meeting over and over again. John fumbled for the nightstand drawer, pressed the bottle of lube into Cam’s hands.  
  
“Take me,” he whispered. “I need to feel. I need -”  
  
Cam didn’t have to be asked twice.   
  
After, they lay in the dimness of Cam’s darkening room - they’d forgotten to turn on any lights - and listened to each other breathe. John dozed, and Cam let him, reveled in the sensation of John in his arms.  
  
When John woke a couple of hours later, he nuzzled his way into Cam’s mouth, soft apology kisses, and then he took Cam just how Cam liked it, slow and sensuous, long deep thrusts, pinning Cam’s hands to the bed, fingers intertwined.  
  
Having John back on Earth was like rewinding time, back to when they were fresh out of college and just starting flight school. It was heated looks across the mess hall, stolen kisses in supply closets, serious talks in each other’s offices that involved no words at all.  
  
It was insane, they weren’t being careful, they were going to get caught, but it was heady and thrilling and perfect, because they were together, in the same galaxy, on the same planet, same continent, in the same country, same state, same city, same base, same room. Mckay had hared off to Area 51 to do research, Teal’c was off-world working his Jaffa Free Nation contacts for any word on Daniel, and Vala was doing the same with her underworld contacts.  
  
Who knew how the Ancients were faring in the Pegasus Galaxy in the Wraith. Landry always conveniently had John somewhere else when Woolsey and O’Neill dialed in from Atlantis.  
  
They were still at war with the Ori.  
  
But Cam could let that all go, shut that off at the door, and step into John’s arms at the end of the day.  
  
He’d always wondered how his father did it, came home on leave and shed the soldier. Oh, he’d tell Cam and Ash the fun things, the exciting things, flying fighter jets and fancy dinners and meeting important people, but he’d never seemed stressed out or scared or afraid. He’d never seemed burdened by his work or the choices he made for the men and women under his command.  
  
And now Cam knew how it was done. As important as the world was, as the galaxy was, as the universe was, what mattered most at the end of it all, however selfish it might have been, was John. It had always been John.  
  
Cam had never considered himself particularly soft or sentimental or domestic, but he liked stupid things, like folding the laundry and finding John’s clothes mixed in with is, and making John breakfast, and seeing John’s toothbrush in the little cup beside the sink. He liked going to sleep beside John, and waking up beside John, and sneaking into the shower with John, and just knowing John was _there_.  
  
When John busted out for Atlantis with Weir, McKay, and Beckett in tow, for one second Cam was shocked, was hurt, because John hadn’t told him, hadn’t warned him.  
  
Once he found his breath again, he understood. John hadn’t told him because John was protecting him. If anyone thought to question Cam, well, Cam didn’t know anything. Didn’t mean he didn’t fret the entire time, burying himself in paperwork and finding repeated excuses to go visit Walter in Control and keep an ear out for news about Atlantis.  
  
Of course John saved Atlantis. Of course the expedition was shipping back out after only six weeks on Earth, the best six weeks of Cam’s life even though Daniel was missing and the galaxy was under threat and half of the choices Cam made involved his career dangling by a thread.  
  
But Cam understood that Atlantis was John’s home, and John would always go back to it.  
  
Cam also knew, also trusted, that John’s heart belonged to him as much as his heart belonged to John, and whatever the distance between them, as soon as they were together, it would be like old times, like the best times.  
  
And then he got the news: Daniel Jackson had been found.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "being so far away when things go wrong."
> 
> John is stuck in a different galaxy when things go wrong for Cam.

John was pretty sure he’d have never gotten the news if Jackson hadn’t emailed him. Cam. Captured by some Ori-worshippers during a routine mission off-world. The locals had been a lot more hostile and a lot more technologically advanced than a lot of Milky Way planets, and they’d had sheer numbers on their side. Cam’s command decisions in the field had enabled the rest of his team to make it back to the SGC to round up Marines for SAR.  
  
The email had been three days old when it arrived in John’s inbox during the weekly databurst. It hadn’t been marked urgent, and John had been more interested in the email from Cam anyway, and then several messages from the IOA _had_ been marked urgent (and some of them actually _were_ urgent when John read them), and by the time he got to Jackson’s, his eyes were tired and he was hungry and irritated and not looking forward to what he suspected was going to be the obligatory _if you hurt him_ nonsense.  
  
John would admit to himself that he’d rarely worried about Cam before, because Cam had overcome seemingly impossible odds after his crash in Antarctica, and he was a competent pilot and soldier, a skilled gate team leader. John hadn’t considered much that Cam probably worried about him even though John was also a respectable gate team leader in his own right. Cam had given John quite the earful about taking off for Atlantis on a Hail Mary rescue mission (followed by a luxurious blowjob and a thorough fucking) during the expedition’s brief return to Earth a few months back, and John had felt bad, for making him worry (but genuinely tempted to make him worry more if it meant sex like that once he returned safe and sound).  
  
But now Cam was captured and John’s only news was almost a week old and it would be three more days till he’d get an update, if any, and John was in a whole different galaxy. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t round up Marines of his own and storm the gate on another planet. He couldn’t take a jumper and his team and go for a Hail Mary rescue mission.  
  
All he could do was wait.  
  
How had Cam not gone insane? Also how had he not given himself away? Because more than one person had asked John if he was all right. Teyla had started bringing him tea almost compulsively, and he’d had multiple sparring sessions with Ronon to work off tension, and Rodney had even let John help him with some equations in the lab.  
  
John knew he was close to getting into a hell of a lot of trouble when Major Lorne, who’d helped arrange John’s apology gift for Cam, cornered him and asked if he could be of assistance. For all that Lorne was a master of logistics, with seemingly magical procurement and delivery skills, he too was limited by the time constraints placed on all of Atlantis by _Daedalus_ deliveries and the weekly databurst to Earth.  
  
When it came time for the next weekly databurst (John had called Control and asked so many times Chuck and Amelia were probably ready to murder him), John was in his quarters hunched over his laptop, hitting the refresh button on his email browser compulsively.   
  
A hundred new emails appeared all at once. John searched for an email from Cam. There was none. His heart crawled into his throat. There were none from Jackson or Carter either.   
  
And then, blessedly, there was one, from Vala Mal Doran.  
  
 _Proof of life_ was the subject. There were no words. Just a single attachment, a photo of Cam in the base infirmary, asleep, head tilted at a painful-looking angle, drooling slightly, the beginnings of a knitting project resting on his stomach.  
  
John stared at that photo for about an hour, memorizing Cam’s face (he realized he had no photos of Cam), and thought Cam looked perfectly, utterly beautiful. He was alive. He was safe. They’d gotten him back.  
  
It would be another week before John could send a reply, but he knew what he had to do. He radioed for Lorne, who responded promptly, as always. Lorne knew his way around the kitchens, yes. And he had a digital camera. He’d help John take a picture.  
  
Given that Lorne had helped John with his last covert message to Cam, he handled John’s request with aplomb. Anyone who opened the email would think it some kind of puerile military inside joke, John posing with a bottle of olive oil and flashing a cheery thumbs up, but Cam would know what John meant, and across two galaxies, that was all that mattered.  
  
Olive oil wasn’t quite olive juice, but it was close enough.  
  
Olive juice.  
  
 _I love you._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "covert love e-mails."
> 
> Cam and John send them.

**To:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **From:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** Jayhawks suck  
  
My Cardinals took down your Jayhawks. You owe me beer.  
  
P.S. Still looking after Jackson’s fish?  
  


* * *

 

  
 **To:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **From:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** RE: Jayhawks suck  
  
My Academy plucked your Cardinals clean and used them to stuff a down pillow. Now YOU owe ME beer.  
  
P.S. Still in possession of Jackson’s fishbowl, yes.

 

* * *

 

  
  
 **To:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **From:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** RE: re: Jayhawks suck  
  
Still listening to Kansas like you’re twenty-five? Bet you’ve used all the tears in your eyes after how bad Old Dominion just murdered The Academy.  
  
P.S. How many fish in the bowl?

 

* * *

  
  
 **To:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **From:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** Your taste in music sucks  
  
I would rather be bound to a pasture and chained to a plow than listen to any more of your Johnny Cash.  
  
P.S. Two lost souls.  
  


* * *

 

  
 **To:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **From:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** RE: Your taste in music sucks  
  
Johnny Cash sang with the Red Hot Chili Peppers one time. Guy’s legit.  
  
P.S. What have they found?

 

* * *

 

  
  
 **To:** sheppard.john@us.af.mil  
 **From:** mitchell.cameron@us.af.mil  
 **Subject:** RE: re: Your taste in music sucks  
  
You say that because you were almost named Sue.  
  
P.S. The same old fear.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Jack stared at the stack of emails, then up at Dr. Kavanagh. “Explain to me again how these are relevant to Colonel Sheppard’s command skills?”  
  
“Obviously he’s utilizing military resources for frivolous purposes. There are strict guidelines about using intra-network emails, and -”  
  
Jack was genuinely tempted to summon some SFs to forcefully escort Kavanagh from his office and let the man spend a night in the brig. Apparently Hank’s putting him on email monitoring duty wasn’t punishment enough. Of course Kavanagh had waited till Jack was holding the fort down for Hank while he was off at his other daughter’s wedding.   
  
“Doctor, Sheppard and Mitchell have been friends since flight school. Plenty of our personnel use their work email accounts to maintain friendships with each other. Frankly that’s safer than them signing into their personal email accounts and potentially compromising our servers. So unless you have evidence of two of our best gate team commanders engaging in gross misconduct, I suggest you focus your energy on _actual_ wrongdoing.” Jack was pretty proud of himself for sounding so professional and diplomatic. Daniel would have been proud.  
  
Dr. Kavanagh wore an expression like he’d sucked on a lemon.  
  
Jack dismissed him with a wave of the hand. As soon as his back was turned, Jack scooped up the email printouts and put them in the _shred_ pile for Walter to deal with. Then he stood up and ambled out into the hallway. He could stretch his legs and give some of the team leaders heart attacks by checking on them and also commiserate with Mitchell about Sheppard’s appalling taste in college basketball teams.  
  
Mitchell’s office was empty, but that wasn’t a surprise, because it had once been Jack’s office, and Jack had avoided it at all costs. Chances were the team was gathered in Daniel’s office, because Daniel’s office was full of interesting things to play with. Daniel’s office was also empty, however. Jack scanned it, remembering fondly how easy it was to wind up Daniel by picking up an artefact and trying to juggle it.  
  
Then he noticed Daniel’s fish tank. It was large, much larger than a fish bowl. And it certainly had more than two fish. Had Daniel delegated a couple of his fish to Mitchell? Only Mitchell’s office had been fish-free. Jack swung by Vala’s office, but it was also empty (and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while). Teal’c’s office was similarly empty.   
  
If Jack wandered enough, he’d find them eventually. But it was food o’clock. Time to head to the mess hall, and stop in on some team leaders for good measure.  
  
He was halfway to the mess hall, having scared the living daylights out of two majors and a lieutenant colonel, when he heard it. Piano music. A vaguely familiar tune. Jack had been subjected to an awful lot of cock rock in his time thanks to working with a lot of Marines. He preferred classical music. Opera. The old Irish ballads from his grandparents. But he followed the sound. The base had a lot of amenities for people who were stationed there longterm or overnight, and for any of their alien allies to have a chance to experience Tau’ri culture.   
  
Daniel, Jack knew, played the piano, but there could have been any number of people on base who also played. Jack was curious, so he followed the sound down a side hall to a closed door. He pushed open a door and - there. Daniel was sitting at an old upright piano. Mitchell was sitting beside him, watching while Daniel played.  
  
“See?” Daniel was saying, switching chords. “Same progression as in the verse, but you only do it once instead of twice.”  
  
Mitchell was bobbing his head to the beat. He sang along with Daniel, his voice not quite as sweet, but steady and clear all the same.  
  
“ _We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year, running over the same old ground, and how we found the same old fear. Wish you were here._ ”  
  
Jack blinked, and suddenly all of those emails made a whole lot more sense.  
  
“Pretty simple,” Daniel said. “You should be able to play it yourself. Want to give it a shot?”  
  
Mitchell nodded, and he and Daniel switched places.  
  
Jack headed for the mess hall and waited for Daniel and Mitchell to arrive. When they did, he flagged them down, and they sat with him. Jack studied Mitchell, looking for any sign of what was going on between him and Sheppard, but Mitchell was just - Mitchell.  
  
Jack eyed Daniel and wondered if Daniel knew what was going on with them, if he was enabling it, or if he was just an innocent, unknowing accomplice in all this.  
  
Until Jack was getting ready to head back to Washington, and Daniel presented him with a fishbowl and two of his fish.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "'Your galaxy or mine?'"
> 
> Start of an AU version of SGA Season 4 onwards.

John wasn’t sure what to make of Cam’s most recent email. Four words. _Your galaxy or mine?_  
  
The Ori had been defeated. SG-1 had been split up, their designation retired. Teal’c had retired to Dakara, Carter was heading up research at Area 51, Vala was heading her own gate team, Jackson was eager to make regular trips to Atlantis to further study the Ancients. Cam was in charge of the F-302 fighter training.  
  
Cam was safe.  
  
That was all that mattered.  
  
And then everything went to hell in a handcart, with the Replicators and Elizabeth sacrificing herself and Atlantis floating in space, lost and alone and without a working Stargate.  
  
John, as the commander of the entire expedition now that Elizabeth was gone, was relieved when the _Apollo_ appeared with help from Earth. He was nervous when he learned that the IOA had decided that Colonel Carter should step into Elizabeth’s shoes.  
  
In all the insanity, John had barely had the brainpower to spare a thought for the realization that he might never see Cam again.  
  
Now Carter was in charge and Rodney was off-kilter because Atlantis was supposed to be a civilian-run expedition and seeing Carter all over the city reminded John starkly of Cam’s absence. Atlantis was on a new planet, the expedition was under new leadership, and John was exhausted. The last email John had sent before Atlantis was adrift in space was a simple _Olive Juice_ , and Cam had responded with a picture of a bottle of olive oil.  
  
John would have given, well, anything to be in the same galaxy as Cam. He didn’t care which galaxy.   
  
He dozed in front of his laptop, trying to read some lengthy memo and some of Carter’s proposed changes to the expedition, when the crackling of his radio jolted him awake.  
  
“Colonel Sheppard to Control,” Chuck said. “Colonel Carter wants to see you.”  
  
John heaved himself to his feet and stumbled out of his quarters, to the nearest transporter. It took him a couple of tries to input the right coordinates, and after brief stops at the Mess Hall and the Training Hall, he emerged in Ops.  
  
Colonel Carter was standing beside Chuck and Amelia at the central gate console.  
  
“Ma’am?” John asked.  
  
“John,” Carter said, “so glad you could join me to welcome our new squadron.”  
  
John blinked. “Squadron for what?”  
  
Amelia said, “ _Daedalus_ is ready to beam them down.”  
  
Carter raised her eyebrows. “Did you not read the memo?”  
  
John was saved from answering by a golden beam of light that materialized two dozen Air Force officers in olive BDUs and their duffel bags. All of them, John realized, were wearing F-302 patches.  
  
Chuck said, “F-302s have beamed down safely into the hangar bay.”  
  
Carter was grinning down at them. “Colonel, so good to have you with us.”  
  
Cam said, “Thanks for having us.”  
  
John blinked. Stared. Standing in the middle of the cluster of officers was none other than Cam Mitchell. And John remembered - Cam was in charge of F-302 training.  
  
Cam grinned up at John. “Colonel Sheppard. So nice of you to be part of the welcome wagon.”  
  
John cleared his throat. “We’re all about welcome wagons in Pegasus.”  
  
Major Lorne said, “Colonel Mitchell, welcome to Atlantis. If you and your squadron will follow me, I’ll show you to your living quarters.”  
  
“Thank you kindly, Major.”   
  
Oh, but John had missed Cam’s smile. Carter cast John a disturbingly knowing look. Before John had to come up with a response, Zelenka radioed for him - he needed help with some Rodney-wrangling, and after that it was non-stop Rodney-wrangling and Marine-wrangling and way too much people-wrangling for comfort.  
  
He barely had time to shovel down a few mouthfuls of tava root before he returned to his quarters and collapsed on his bed, fully dressed, boots still on.   
  
“So,” Cam said, “your galaxy after all.”  
  
John opened his eyes.   
  
Cam was sitting at John’s desk, toying with John’s model F-16.  
  
“Please be real,” John said. He heaved himself up into a sitting position. “You better be real. If you’re not real, I’m going to have to shoot something.”  
  
Cam laughed softly, stood up, crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed beside John. “I’m real. No shooting necessary.”  
  
John reached out, curled his fingers tentatively around Cam’s wrist. Solid. Warm. Real.  
  
“You gave Earth quite a scare, there,” Cam said. “Gave me quite a scare, cutting off contact like that. What do you have to say for yourself?”  
  
 _Olive juice,_ he mouthed.  
  
Cam murmured, “I love you too,” and finally, finally, they kissed.


End file.
